


Socks

by yeaka



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-07
Updated: 2013-01-07
Packaged: 2017-11-24 01:22:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/628708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Severus is forced to hand-deliver Gilderoy's Christmas present from Albus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Socks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [y3llowdaisi3s](https://archiveofourown.org/users/y3llowdaisi3s/gifts).



> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its contents, and I'm not making any money off this.

Severus has to deliver the package in person. Not because he at all enjoys the sentiment of personal touch, but simply because his owl died this morning. (Also, he may or may not wish to get a sick satisfaction out of seeing such a pompous, arrogant prat so thoroughly ruined.)

“It’s a Christmas present, Severus,” Albus said. Severus had only glared. “You’ll deliver it, won’t you?”

Severus had nodded but still wonders ‘why.’ Why Albus couldn’t simply owl it himself, Severus has no idea. He does, however, find it very suspicious that one afternoon he insults Albus’ fashion sense, that night Albus insists he hand deliver a package, and the next morning his owl diabolically dies and forces him to do so. He wouldn’t put it past the old coot, who is frankly a more conniving git than anyone else will give him credit for.

The mediwizard at the end of the hall sweetly offers to deliver the package for him, but Severus tells her, “No.” Because he’s already come this far, so he might as well get his own sadistic curiosity satisfied. She points him down another hallway, and Severus wonders absently how many people still send the fool Christmas presents. As soon as Severus finds the right ward, he has to start avoiding people, who inevitably come up and thank him for the lovely gift.

Severus has absolutely no problem hissing, “It’s not for you,” at harmless crackpots, some of whom instantly break out into tears at his cold tone.

Severus beelines around the useless meandering people and stops abruptly in front of the bed at the end. A familiar, wide smile beams up at him expectantly, and Severus’ stomach sinks.

Lockhart isn’t supposed to be smiling. He’s supposed to be miserable, so Severus’ thirst for revenge can be quenched. Severus scowls. Trust Gilderoy Lockhart to completely ruin his Christmas. Mood utterly spoiled, Severus shoves the package forward and sneers, “From Albus.”

“Another fan, eh?” Lockhart exclaims happily, brushing a confident hand through his way-too-brushed blond hair. “No doubt to thank me for how my book absolutely saved his life! Which book? Why, all of them!”

Severus can’t roll his eyes, because he’s too busy glaring. He grunts out, “Albus Dumbledore.” It blows his mind that anyone could not know who Albus is. But then, this is Gilderoy Lockhart, and if there is a denser person on the planet, Severus hasn’t met them.

Lockhart scrunches up his face as if thinking. He’s sitting up in bed, with the blankets up to his waist, dressed in a white housecoat. This, of course, completely spoils the fact that Severus purchased elegant, current new robes a wizard in the medical ward could never have, just for this vengeful occasion.

“Dumblydoor? Dumbly-doooor? Hm, nope, I don’t think he’s written me before.” Lockhart’s face splits in two with his growing smile. “New fan then, eh? So sweet! I make new ones every day, you know!” And then he returns to fervently ripping the wrapping off his package. “This is my seventy-third present today!” he boasts. “Lovely dearies—ooh, what have we here?” Lockhart pulls his present out of the package, disappointment clear on his face. “Socks?”

Severus grinds his teeth together. Of course, Albus would send him all the way to St Mungo’s for socks. And of course, Lockhart would be stupid enough to not know who they’re from. This is useless. Severus turns as if to leave, but Lockhart’s hand shoots out and grabs hold of his wrist.

Lockhart wrinkles his nose. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. They’re lovely, Severus.”

And he lets go so he can throw off his blanket and bend to put his new socks on his bare feet.

Severus stares. No idea who Dumbledore is, but apparently first-name knowledge of Severus, even though they were never on a first name basis in the first place. When Lockhart’s done dressing himself with all the grace of a five-year old, he cheerily grabs Severus’ wrist again and says, “Besides, your company is the real gift. Stay with me for dinner, yes? They serve it in these neat little cups, you’ll just love it! And we can discuss old times—remember when I helped you with your lesson plan on those Vanishing Draughts? You’re welcome.”

Severus is pulled unceremoniously onto the bed and wonders if he could get away with hexing Lockhart to death under the guise of ‘self-defense.’ He is, after all, terminally irritating.

Lockhart seems not at all to notice this and continues chatting to Severus about all the lovely times they shared, and what a good team they were. Severus stares blankly at the far wall and vows to never insult Albus’ socks again.


End file.
